


The Questing Beast

by blahcat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Roommates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:41:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22632865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blahcat/pseuds/blahcat
Summary: Desperate for a slower pace after the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione uprooted her life and became a librarian. More specifically, the head of magical antiquities at the Vatican Apostolic Library. And while the peace that comes from not having to fight for her very life has been a blessing, Hermione never imagined that being a librarian could become so…dull.That is until Harry shows to tell her about beast whose presence foretells imminent doom. At first, sightings were dismissed, but its appearances became too persistent to ignore. Now, tracking the monster and figuring out what it foreshadows has become critical.Harry believes Hermione is only one of two people who can solve this mystery. The other?The only person in the United Kingdom who can track the beast. The last living heir of King Pellinore.And he’s serving a ten-year sentence in Azkaban.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 28
Kudos: 88





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desperate for a slower pace after the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione uprooted her life and became a librarian. More specifically, the head of magical antiquities at the Vatican Apostolic Library. And while the peace that comes from not having to fight for her very life has been a blessing, Hermione never imagined that being a librarian could become so…dull.
> 
> That is until Harry shows to tell her about beast whose presence foretells imminent doom. At first, sightings were dismissed, but its appearances became too persistent to ignore. Now, tracking the monster and figuring out what it foreshadows has become critical.
> 
> Harry believes Hermione is only one of two people who can solve this mystery. The other?
> 
> The only person in the United Kingdom who can track the beast. The last living heir of King Pellinore.
> 
> And he’s serving a ten-year sentence in Azkaban.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I've updated the first two chapters with the help of the lovely HeartSandwich! She's the best and I'm so happy for her help on this journey.*
> 
> Welcome to my first fic in ten years and my first fic ever for Harry Potter -- my favorite fandom. I'm excited about this. I needed a break from writing my original work since it's become stressful.
> 
> This is loosely based on The Mummy -- so lots of adventure and romance. If you like The Mummy, I think you'll like this.
> 
> I anticipate regular weekly updates if not more depending on my schedule. Rated Mature for now, but will likely become Explicit for later chapters.
> 
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> xoxo  
> blahcat

After the war, Hermione needed a break.

A break from people bending over backward because she’s a war heroine.

A break from reporters commenting on her every move.

A break- _up_ from a relationship that went well past its expiration date.

Hermione doesn’t do things in halves. Her break, which she originally thought would be a year post-Hogwarts traveling abroad, turned into _five_ years and a job at the Vatican Apostolic Library in Rome.

And while good food and wine are major benefits to living in Italy, the best part is Italian witches and wizards – the _streghe_ – don’t care who she is as long as she does her job well.

“Alessandro,” Hermione said, swiveling around on her stool and gesturing at the table of empty display cases. “A box. One with the gold hardware, _per favore_.”

Her assistant grabbed a box and held it up for Hermione to inspect. “This one?”

“ _Grazie_ .” She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose before digging a particularly stubborn clump of dirt from the femur on her desk. “It’s disgusting how the Vestal priestesses were treated. Buried alive in the _Campus Sceleratus_ if they broke their vow of chastity?” Hermione shook her head. “Awful.”

“Only to be dug up and studied by scholars centuries later.”

“Well, at least we can learn from them I suppose.”

“You always go on about divination being for fools and frauds.” Alessandro grinned. “You’re not starting to believe in it, are you?”

“ _Hardly_ ,” she scoffed. “But _streghe_ take divination seriously, and since they’re our primary scholars that means we’re dusting and cataloging vestal witch bones.” Hermione put down her pick and gave the bone a thorough brushing. “That should be it. All done.”

Hermione watched as Alessandro put on a pair of gloves and carefully placed the bones in the case. _Streghe_ would use them for throwing bones and write academic papers about their merits in modern divination. Being the head of magical antiquities for one of the world’s oldest libraries often meant working with scholars and magic she didn’t always agree with. But she’d come a long way from storming out of Professor Trelawney’s classroom. Even though she still thought divination was for fools and frauds, at least now she’s learned to bite her tongue.

“Any plans for this weekend?” Alessandro asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

Hermione took off her glasses and shut them in their case with a _snap_. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

“Dinner tonight at Bonelli’s. A book at some café or another Saturday morning—”

“Oh, come on. I’m not _that_ predictable,” she interrupted.

“—Or the market,” Alessandro continued without pause. “And then a movie on Sunday afternoon.”

“I do _other_ things.” Hermione spent her first year in Italy exploring. After stuffing herself with carbonara and taking in every Muggle and magical historical site she could, it was easy to settle into a pretty predictable routine. One Alessandro teased her about every chance he got.

“That’s true.” A grin crept up his face. “Sometimes you’re here – working – on the weekend.”

“Fine.” Hermione took the display case from Alessandro and left their office for the library’s Divination wing, her heels clicking on the marble floors. “I might’ve got a little comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” Alessandro laughed. “Gino and I are comfortable, but even we mix things up and go on romantic getaways every now and then. You’re in a rut.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t need a romantic getaway. Or any adventure for that matter.” Hermione placed the case on a shelf between the bones of Minucia and Sextilia in the Ancient Roman remains section. With the tap of her wand, the gold nameplate glittered with the name Orbinia. She turned to Alessandro, hands on her hips. “I’ve had enough of that to last me a lifetime.”

“And yet you seem so—” he gestured to her with a wave of his hand “—bored.”

“Maybe I like bored,” Hermione said with a shrug.

Alessandro shook his head, dark eyes suddenly serious. “You don’t seem like you like it.”

“Don’t use your _streghe_ magic on me.”

“I don’t need to use anything on you to figure that out. It’s written all over your face.”

Hermione swatted at Alessandro before giving him a small smile. “Let’s take a break.”

***

Belvedere Courtyard was bustling with activity by the time Hermione and Alessandro left the Vat for lunch. It was late August and the sun hung high in the sky, beating down on the backs of tourists taking pictures in front of sculptures. Living in a city like Rome, there wasn’t a short supply of tourists – both Muggle and magical folk traveled there to take in the sights.

Hermione dug a hair tie out of her beaded bag and brought her thick, curly hair up into a ponytail, fanning the sweat collecting on the back of her neck. “I’ll never get used to this weather.”

“Try going to school in Capri.” Alessandro smirked. “We took boats from Positano to get to the grotto where the school’s entrance was hidden. One year a girl got sunburned so bad she had to use a burn-healing paste for three days.”

The pair sidestepped a group of Muggles posing in front of the _Pigna_ and passed a guide leading a group of witches and wizards on a tour of Rome’s magical architecture. Hermione smiled. It was common in Italy, particularly in the bigger cities, to see Muggle and magical culture blend so seamlessly – even if Muggles weren’t aware of it. Unlike in England, the Italian _streghe_ didn’t adhere to such strict rules around keeping things separate. “Muggles already sense the magic in the air,” Alessandro’s boyfriend, Gino, told her when she asked about it one evening over wine. “But, to them, it registers as romance or adventure. Our history is so entwined with Muggle culture that it’s hard to figure out where one ends and the other begins.”

Their favorite café was just outside Vatican City on a cozy side street many tourists passed by for the grander piazzas. Hermione grabbed a table outside while Alessandro put in an order for their usual espresso and paninis.

She took a deep breath, inhaling the mingling smells of lavender and coffee, and closed her eyes. Maybe Alessandro was right, Hermione thought. A weekend trip somewhere like Florence or Lake Como might be just what she needed to get out of her funk. There was a new apothecary in Florence since the last time she visited that carried ingredients and potions she couldn’t find in Rome. Plus, she wouldn’t turn down a bottle of wine and a bowl of minestrone from Da Burde.

“I almost didn’t recognize you with your hair up,” a voice she hadn’t heard in months called from behind her.

Hermione’s eyes shot open and she nearly fell out of her chair. “Harry?”

Harry’s face broke into a broad grin. Hermione jumped up and ran to him, flinging her arms around his neck. “Oof.” He laughed, wrapping her in a hug. “Hello to you too.”

The last time Hermione saw Harry in person was two years ago when he and Ginny spent part of their honeymoon in Italy. She pulled away, taking in how much older her friend looked. His dark brown hair was as messy as ever and a matching beard now covered his cheeks. He’d grown broader, too, after years of working as an Auror. But his green eyes still shone with mischief and his smile was still slightly lopsided.

“What’re you doing here?” she asked, eyes wide and heart beating fast. “And how did you find me?”

He shrugged. “Oh, you know, I’ve got my ways.”

“Let me guess, you went to the Vat and they told you I was on my lunch?”

“Maybe.” Harry laughed.

“Now that you’re here, sit down! Let me buy you an espresso.” Hermione threw her arm around his shoulders and led him to the table, pulling over an extra chair for him. “Congratulations, by the way. Ginny wrote to me last week about your promotion.” She arched her brows. “Head Auror by twenty-three.”

“Well, the announcement won’t be made until next month.” His grin widened and a slight flush colored his pale cheeks. “But I’m pretty excited. There’re so many new initiatives I want to enact.”

Hermione leaned back in her chair. “Married, promoted. A child on the way,” she said. “I’m so proud of you, Harry.”

“Thank you,” he laughed. “Ginny deserves at least half the credit on two of those.”

“Though I’m assuming you didn’t come all this way just for my admiration.”

“As much as I enjoy it, no.” Harry’s smile faltered slightly. “One of those initiatives I want to enact.” He took a deep breath and looked over his shoulder before leaning further across the table. “Well, I’d like to ask for your help.”

“Harry?” Alessandro stood just outside the café’s entrance, balancing his and Hermione’s orders on a tray. “What are you doing here?”

Hermione tore her eyes away from Harry to look up at her assistant. “He’s here on business,” she said smoothly. “And decided to pop in and say hello.”

“ _Che figata_ !” Alessandro put the tray down and patted Harry on the shoulder. “Good to see you, _mio amico_. Are you here through the weekend? Maybe you can get Hermione to stray from her monotonous schedule.”

“Monotonous schedule?” Harry asked, eyes sliding over to Hermione. “You’ve never been one for monotony. Though your OWL study timetables made me want to jump headfirst into the Black Lake.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, pouting, “My life isn’t _that_ monotonous.”

Alessandro nudged her with his elbow before standing back up. “What do you want to eat, Harry? And don’t say nothing.”

Harry laughed. “If this is the place that has the chicken and pesto panini Hermione’s always writing to me about then I’ll take one of those.”

“You’re writing your friends about _sandwiches_ ?” Alessandro’s face twisted in exaggerated disgust. “ _Madonna mia_. Your rut’s worse than I thought.”

Hermione threw her napkin at his back before turning her attention to Harry. “He thinks my life is boring.”

“You’ve never been boring. Serious and high-strung, sure.”

“Gee, thanks.” Hermione sipped her espresso. “He’s right, though. After the war all I wanted was something stable and quiet. Five years later and it’s like I’m living in an endless loop of sleep, work, read, sleep.”

“Nothing else?” Harry asked while plucking a piece of lint from his t-shirt. Hermione recognized the casualness in his tone. It was the way he always asked about things while trying not to sound like he was prying.

“No, I haven’t dated in months if that’s what you’re trying to get at.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m surprised Ginny hasn’t mentioned it since she asks almost every time we have a Floo call.”

After that, their conversation moved to Hermione’s work with the Vestal priestesses’ remains and the new project she hoped to take on in a few weeks. “Can you believe,” she asked around a bite of her panini, “they found Saint Eusebius’s hand bound spell books?” Her eyes widened. “The human flesh is still intact! Another reason the rumors of him being a necromancer are likely valid.”

“Human flesh?” Harry repeated, clearing his throat. “That, uh, sounds great, Hermione.”

“More than great, Harry. Positively brilliant.”

Alessandro tossed his napkin onto his empty plate and checked his watch. “Speaking of, I need to get back to the Vat and sign some forms to have those brought up from Sicily.”

“Do you need help?” Hermione asked.

“Spend time with your friend. I’ve got it covered.” Alessandro grinned. “You should take the afternoon. You’ve worked enough late nights and weekends.”

Hermione eyed Harry, remembering there was something private he wanted to ask her, and settled back into her chair. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Have a fun weekend.” Alessandro grabbed their plates and nodded his head to them. “ _Ciao_.”

Harry waited until Alessandro disappeared down the street before picking up where they left off. “Unfortunately, I’m not staying for the weekend. I need to go into the office tomorrow morning.”

“That’s a shame,” she said, taking another sip of espresso. “It would’ve been nice to catch up.”

He spread his hands out on the metal table, staring down at the spaces between his fingers. Finally, Harry looked at her again. “I need you to come back to London with me.”

“Why would you want me to do that?” Hermione raised her eyebrows.

“Since May there have been a string of strange occurrences cropping up throughout the UK.” He shook his head, his hair falling over his eyes. “It all sounds rather ridiculous”

“What kind of occurrences? I haven’t read of anything unusual happening in the paper.” Just because she lived in a different country didn’t mean Hermione stopped paying attention to what was going on in the United Kingdom. She still had the _Daily Prophet_ delivered every morning.

“That’s because the DMLE’s trying to keep them quiet.”

Hermione made a face.

“I know, I know, but even Kingsley’s in agreement. Trust me, if details were to be made public…” Harry trailed off, rubbing his temples. It was then Hermione noticed the deep bags under his eyes. “Either people would think the DMLE’s gone mad for wasting resources on something so absurd, or everyone would devolve in a mass panic.”

Hermione tapped her fingernails against the ceramic espresso cup. “Now you're worrying me. What is it?”

“Over the past three months we’ve received a spike in people owling the Auror Office about sightings of a beast.” He carded his fingers through his hair. “At first we weren’t concerned. You know how it is. It’s like listening to Luna go on about nargles. We get hundreds of letters a week and only about 3% of all the letters we receive prove to be a real problem.”

“And this beast falls in that 3%, I take it.”

“That’s why I need you back in London. The Auror Office is responsible for hunting it, but none of us are really equipped to do it.”

“Let me get this straight. You’re offering me a job that none of the other highly trained Aurors are qualified to do? To hunt a monster?” She threw her hands in the air. “Do I look like a monster hunter?”

“No, you look like a librarian.”

“That’s because I _am_ one. I’m head of magical antiquities at the Vat.” Frustration twisted through her tone. She looked away from Harry, instead watching as people meandered up and down the street taking pictures of the old buildings and buying gelato. Her life in Italy may have been less than exciting, but at least it wasn’t fraught with stress. After only seeing Harry twice in five years, he had the nerve to ask her if she’d leave her job to help him with what sounded like an absolute headache. “What makes you think I’m right for the job?”

“The whole monster thing is complicated. When we cross-referenced the letters and interviewed those who saw it, we were able to figure out what kind of beast we’re dealing with.” He gave her that lopsided smile that always warmed her heart. The one he knew she couldn’t say no to. “You’ll still get to use that librarian brain of yours. That’s why I need you for this. I know for a fact that you’ve written a few academic papers on King Arthur and his knights.”

“Well, it’s nice to know you’ve been keeping up with my scholarly pursuits.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “But how’s that relevant?”

“Because the monster is from Arthurian lore. The Questing Beast.”

Hermione’s research had never delved into the Questing Beast, a monster whose presence foretold doom. Her studies focused on the demonization Morgan Le Fay in juxtaposition to the British wizarding world’s adoration of Merlin. But she still knew of the Questing Beast. Any scholar with a casual interest in Arthurian lore knew about the Questing Beast.

“But it’s possible it doesn’t exist. Or if it _had_ , that it wouldn’t still be alive. Why’s the DMLE so worried about what could be a wild goose chase?”

“Actually, this wasn’t the first time there were reported sightings of it. That’s why they’re so on edge. There were at least three other times in history that it was spotted.” Harry readjusted his glasses. “It was seen at the outset of the First and Second Wizarding Wars.”

“And the third time?”

“Right before Tom Riddle was born.”

Hermione pressed her lips together but said nothing.

“We want to figure out what its presence means, hopefully avoiding a catastrophic event,” Harry said.

“You know there’re other witches and wizards who have more knowledge in Arthurian lore.”

“You’re the only person I trust to do this. You’re knowledgeable _and_ discreet. Hunting a monster is only the half of it. I wouldn’t bother you with this if it wasn’t serious.”

“It would only be temporary, right?”

Harry nodded. “Once it’s solved, you can go back to the Vat.”

Hermione sighed, squeezing her eyes shut until she saw spots. The part of her who left the United Kingdom five years ago in search of a break from chaos was screaming at her to stay put. _Comfortable is a good thing!_ The voice said. _That’s why it’s so comfy. Curl up in your rut and hunker down. That was your plan._

But there was that other part of her, too. The restless, easily bored part of her that got a thrill from close calls and was quick to befriend the Boy Who Lived after he and Ron rescued her from a troll in the girls’ loo. That part of her may have settled down after years of being told to be quiet, but Hermione could hear it calling her. Whispering promises of adventure. Of something less tedious than cataloging bones in a creaky old office all day long.

“Before joining you on this possibly quixotic journey, I’ll have to inform my boss,” she said. “And make sure Alessandro has things covered while I’m away.”

“Of course,” Harry said all too eagerly. “I can help. I know it’s short notice.”

“And I’d need to find lodging.”

“Already taken care of. The DMLE’s sparing no expense in having you come on board.” Harry grinned as if Hermione was the kind of person who could be swayed by luxury accommodations. “They’ve rented a nice two-bedroom townhome for you only a few blocks away from the Ministry.”

“That seems like a waste. I’d only need one room,” she said. “Perhaps a small nook I can use as an office.”

Harry scratched the back of his neck. “Remember how I said monster hunting’s only half of it?”

Hermione’s lips dropped into a frown. “What’s the other half?”

“I thought you knew this, but I guess not.”

“Knew what?” She couldn’t catch his eye. Anger flared in her chest. He never looked right at her when he knew whatever he was about to say wouldn’t be good.

“You’re the only person I trust to hunt the Questing Beast, but there’s only so much you can do on your own.”

“Harry?” His name dripped from her mouth like acid. She watched him swallow and run another hand through his well-tousled hair. “Spit. It. Out.”

“Technically, no matter how much tracking you do, you’d never be able to locate the beast. Hunting him is an innate skill passed down through King Pellinore’s lineage, of which there’s only one living heir.”

“I’d have a partner?”

“More or less. You’d have a partner, but he’d also be your… ward.”

“And why’s that, Harry?” Hermione asked, her voice sharp enough to scratch a diamond.

“Because he’s currently serving a ten-year sentence in Azkaban.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the wonderful comments on chapter one! I hope you enjoy this chapter too! Let me know! Alpha/beta'd by HeartSandwiches! Yay!
> 
> xoxo  
> blahcat

Hermione paced the small expanse of the visitor room in Azkaban, her heels clicking against the stone floors. “I can’t believe you talked me into this.”

After Harry told her she’d be working and living with Draco Malfoy, she got up and started making her way back to the Vat. It took Harry another two hours of begging and a promise that he’d get her a meeting with the head of the Department of Mysteries so Hermione could ask for help with a few of her more challenging work projects.

She still wasn’t happy about it. In fact, she was decidedly unhappy about working with and supervising her childhood bully. But Harry was right, even if she wasn’t thrilled to admit it. The mystery of the Questing Beast intrigued her. It scratched an itch she was missing in her work at the Vat. And maybe Malfoy had changed. He could be nearly tolerable after six years of sitting in a prison cell.

Maybe.

Harry laughed as he scratched his signature next to Hermione’s on yet  _ another _ form. “I told you I’d take full blame if you end up killing him.” His smile dropped. “But please don’t kill him.”

Hermione huffed and brushed down the front of her black pencil skirt. Since arriving back in the UK, she hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep. She hadn’t even seen the accommodations the Ministry had set up for her and her… ward. Harry had thoroughly swept her up in this project; the first night home was devoted to filing paperwork and signing about a hundred or so different documents.

The next night, they had a secret, midnight meeting with the Wizengamot to discuss Malfoy’s immediate release into Hermione’s custody. No one wanted to risk nosey reporters like Rita Skeeter sniffing around for an interview or photo of the pair leaving the courtrooms. After six hours of going back and forth over proper safety protocol, protection wards, and the promise of an Unbreakable Vow, Prisoner Uruz, Fehu, 874, Draco Lucius Malfoy, was set to be released from Azkaban.

Now it was a matter of convincing Malfoy to help them.

“What if this has all been a waste of time?” Hermione asked, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. “You should’ve asked him first.”

“ _ You _ were the one I was uncertain about. Why would anyone turn down leaving all of this behind?”

“Malfoy’s not just anyone.” Tension twisted around Hermione’s spine line bindweed. She dug her nails into her palms. “You know as well as I do that he’s going to make this difficult.”

Harry initialed next to another clause on the form. “Just like someone else I know,” he muttered.

“What was that, Harry?”

“They should be bringing him in any minute now,” he said louder.

The last time Hermione saw Malfoy was when she testified on behalf of him and his mother at their trials. While Narcissa had received a lighter sentence – three years of house arrest at Malfoy Manor and 400 hours of community service – her son and husband didn’t fare as well.

On top of their respective sentences, the Malfoy family was required to pay 100,000 galleons in reparations to families impacted by the war. Not that they didn’t have the money and then some, but the Wizengamot made sure neither Malfoy man would be able to enjoy the comforts of their manor or vault anytime soon. For the younger, it meant a ten-year sentence locked away in Azkaban followed up by house arrest for another two – even with Harry and Hermione’s statements. Clearly the Wizengamot wanted to make an example of all Death Eaters, especially the Malfoys.

Lucius wasn’t so lucky. He received a lifelong sentence with no option for parole. But he only served four years when Death had other plans. By the time the guards in Azkaban realized Lucius was dying from brain cancer, it was too late to use magic to heal him. There was a certain irony, Hermione thought, of someone as hateful as Lucius dying from a Muggle disease, but she felt sympathy for the Malfoy family’s loss. She knew what it was like to lose a parent.

“Fantastic.” Hermione sat down in the creaky chair next to Harry and fussed with the collar of her blouse. She stared at the empty chair on the other side of the wooden table. A lone candle flickered in a sconce on the stone wall and Hermione could hear rain thrashing against the tiny circular window. It was so cliché seeing Malfoy for the first time after all these years in such a dreary setting. She rolled her eyes. That said, a spring day in full bloom wouldn’t have felt right either.

There was a loud knock at the large iron door.

“You ready?” Harry asked. Hermione took a deep breath and nodded. “Come in,” he shouted.

The door banged against the wall and Malfoy was pushed inside by an Auror holding a wand to his back. Chains hung from his wrists all the way down to his ankles and clattered against the floor. He didn’t look at Harry or Hermione as the Auror shoved him down into the chair opposite them.

“Want me to restrain him?” The Auror smirked. He yanked at the cuffs around Malfoy’s wrists. “It’d be no trouble at all.”

“I see they’re still treating prisoners like animals even without the Dementors.” Hermione pressed her lips together.

The Auror’s smirk faltered and he looked at Hermione. “The famous war heroine concerned with how we treat war criminals?” He arched an eyebrow. “That’s rich.”

“Restraints won’t be necessary, Auror Doddle,” Harry said in a firm voice before glancing at Hermione. “Thank you.”

Auror Doddle turned on his heel and slammed the door shut behind him.

Malfoy laughed, a sound that felt trapped in the small room. “Bit of a prick, isn’t he?” His voice was deep, slightly rasped from disuse.

He’d changed since the last time Hermione saw him. When she testified for him at his trial, he looked so small and tired strapped in the chair in front of the Wizengamot. He still looked tired, the dark bags under his eyes were proof of that, but he didn’t look like a scared little boy anymore.

Hermione noticed the scruff on his face first. Malfoy had always been clean-shaven back at Hogwarts. In fact, she didn’t think he could grow a beard. Under the scruff was a sharp jawline and high cheekbones, not the pointed features she often saw twisted into looks of contempt thrown in her direction. His eyes were darker. The color was the same gray as sea rocks after a storm. His platinum hair was nearly as long as his father’s used to be and fell down his back in greasy knots. And he’d clearly been keeping himself busy with exercise because his shoulders were broader, too.

Malfoy didn’t sink into the chair or cower away. Rather, he sat tall and waited patiently for her or Harry to speak. He didn’t look at either of them. He looked through them. And while he wasn’t scared or little anymore, Hermione thought he seemed sad.

“Good morning, Malfoy,” Harry said, ignoring the other man’s jab at Auror Doddle. “It’s been a while.”

“1,903 days, six hours, thirteen minutes, and forty-three seconds since I was put away, yes.” Malfoy inspected his fingernails, his handcuffs clinking against each other. “You could consider that  _ a while _ .”

Hermione scoffed. He may look different, but it seemed not much else had changed.

“Right.” Harry narrowed his eyes. “I’m sure you’re wondering why we’re here, so I’ll get on with it. The Auror Office has just taken on a project that requires your specific set of skills. Unfortunately, you’re quite literally the only person for the job,” Harry said. “I’m sure you know what I’m referring to.”

Malfoy scratched at the scruff on his chin and tilted his head, fixing Harry with a curious smile. “You’ll have to spell it out for me, Potter. There happen to be  _ many _ things I excel at.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Malfoy, you very well know what he’s talking about,” Hermione interjected. She pressed her fingers to her temples. Of course he wouldn’t make this easy.

“The Brightest Witch of Her Age.” His eyes drifted over to her, his smile growing into a grin. Hermione felt a flush creep up the back of her neck, and she clenched her fists under the table. “What are you doing here? Last I read in the  _ Prophet _ , you broke things off with your fiancé and fled to Italy.”

“Didn’t take one for you to read the gossip column, though I suppose prison can make one desperate for entertainment,” she sniffed.

Harry rubbed his glasses on his robe. “This is going to take forever, isn’t it?”

“Fine, fine. I’m listening,” Malfoy said, turning his attention back to Harry.

“We need your help because of the inherited talent you have for hunting the Questing Beast.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Malfoy said, eyebrows raised. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of that creature before.”

“Come off it, you know what I mean. We confirmed with your mother. There are portraits of Pellinores hanging in Malfoy Manor. You’re the last remaining heir of King Pellinore and the only person who can track the Questing Beast.” Harry drummed his fingers on the table. “There have been confirmed sightings of it appearing in various locales across the United Kingdom and it’s critical we determine what the monster’s foreshadowing. The last time it appeared, we ended up in a second war. If you help the Auror Office and successfully find the beast, you’ll be a free man and your record will be expunged.” The drumming stopped and Harry sighed. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. “Are you in or would you rather spend the next four years on an uncomfortable cot in a cold prison cell?”

Rain leaked through the window and dripped down the walls in heavy plinks. Malfoy’s eyes were expressionless, hands folded in his lap. He stared between them both. After a moment, he smiled once again. “You’re saying if I choose to help you, I’d have to give up that lovely cot and cell and those delicious meals they deliver right at my door three times a day?” He tutted. “What a shame it would be to lose all that.”

Hermione leaned toward Harry. “Maybe I can figure it out on my own,” she whispered. “I figured out the Horcruxes, after all. How difficult could it be to hunt the Questing Beast?”

“Ah, so that’s why you’re here,” Malfoy said. “You bested me in every class at Hogwarts and now you’re my backup. What an interesting turn of events.”

“I’d be your  _ partner _ . I happen to know quite a bit about Arthurian lore.”

“Knowing  _ a bit about Arthurian lore  _ won’t help you hunt the Questing Beast. I can assure you of that.”

Harry cleared his throat. “You’ll be Hermione’s ward as part of the conditions of your early release from Azkaban. In addition to providing her knowledge on the topic, she’ll look after you and submit weekly reports on your progress.”

“There’s the catch.” Malfoy nodded as if it was all starting to make sense.

“That’s what I thought, too,” Hermione said.

“Seems like Potter has a worse sense of humor than I thought.”

“I’ll say.”

“Great. Glad to see you’re getting along at my expense.” Harry rolled his eyes. “Consider this a probationary period. You’ll have a wand, but certain spells will be restricted. And you’ll live with Hermione in accommodations provided by the DMLE.”

“Sounds cozy.”

Harry continued, “You won’t be able to leave the townhome unsupervised. The premises will be warded so Hermione can leave you there. But if you try to go anywhere without her, well, you and Hermione are required to perform an Unbreakable Vow promising your cooperation. And, as you know…”

“I know how it works, Potter. I’ll die. You’re really selling me on this.”

“This is serious, Malfoy.”

He stared down at his chained wrists. A breeze kicked up outside, rattling the window against its frame. Hermione thought she could feel it pass between the stones because a chill crawled down her back. Malfoy met Harry’s eyes. His face devoid of amusement for the first time their entire meeting. “If I agree to this, am I allowed to see my mother?”

“That’s up to Hermione,” Harry said.

Malfoy turned to her. His dark gray eyes were empty. Like staring into a night sky empty of stars. She didn’t drop his gaze, rather she tried to look beyond the surface. Deeper into the well. That sadness she saw earlier, before he had his guard up, flickered briefly in his eyes. Hermione’s heart beat quickened. He looked away.

“I’d never keep you from your mother,” she said, feeling something like sympathy grow in her stomach. “We can see her as often as you’d like. Soon, even.”

The wry mask was back on and Malfoy sat straighter in his chair. “Well, give me time to clean up properly. I wouldn’t want her seeing me like this.” He gestured to his tangled hair and dirty black and white striped uniform.

“Do we have an agreement?”

“As much as I hate to agree with you on anything, Potter, yeah. We have an agreement,” he said. 

“When do we start?”

Harry pulled out his wand and vanished Malfoy’s restraints. “Now.”

He rubbed his wrists and jumped up from the chair, looking to see that his ankles were free as well. Harry tossed him the wand they’d picked up earlier from Ollivander’s. “Ten inches, hawthorn with a unicorn hair core. With slight modifications. No solo apparition, no Unforgivable Curses, no dark spells of any kind. Any attempt of those will be recorded and sent directly to the Auror’s Office.”

  
  


Malfoy wasn’t listening. His eyes were wide, and he gripped the wand in his fist until his knuckles turned white. He swished it through the air. Sparks crackled from its tip and his long hair floated above his shoulders.

  
  


“You and Hermione need to perform the Vow before you leave,” Harry continued. “We also brought a fresh set of robes from your mother.”

  
  


Hermione stood and pulled the folded robes out of her beaded bag and placed them on the table. “She said these are your favorite.”

  
  


“I’m touched.” He placed a hand to his heart. “It’s like Christmas.”

  
  


“Let’s get the Vow out of the way, shall we?” She said.

To her surprise, Malfoy nodded and moved to stand before her. He smirked down at her, raising a blond eyebrow, and held out his right hand. “Well, Granger? I promise I won’t bite. I’m on my best behavior.”

  
  


Her ears turned pink. She narrowed her eyes, shoving her right hand into his. “Hurry up, Harry.”

Harry leapt to his feet and held his wand against their clasped hands. He nodded at the pair.

  
  


“While hunting the Questing Beast, you, Draco Malfoy, vow to remain under house arrest in our townhome unless accompanied by me, Hermione Granger, or unless you are forced out by life-threatening circumstances,” Hermione began.

  
  


“While hunting the Questing Beast, I, Draco Malfoy, vow to remain under house arrest in our townhome unless accompanied by you, Hermione Granger, or unless I am forced out by life-threatening circumstances,” Draco repeated.

  
  


A thin thread of fire shot forth from Harry’s wand and wove around their hands. The flame warmed Hermione’s skin and she felt the heat travel all the way up her arm to nestle in her stomach.

  
  


“When outside our townhome, you, Draco Malfoy, vow to stay within proximity of me, Hermione Granger, except if instances of tracking the Questing Beast call for otherwise or you are forced away by life-threatening circumstances.”

  
  


“When outside our townhome, I, Draco Malfoy, vow to stay within proximity of you, Hermione Granger, except if instances of tracking the Questing Beast call for otherwise or I am forced away by life-threatening circumstances.”

  
  


Another strand of orange flames flickered, this time lacing between their fingers.

  
  


“I, Hermione Granger, vow to protect you, Draco Malfoy, to the best of my ability while we are bound. You, Draco Malfoy, vow to do the same.”

  
  


Surprise passed over Malfoy's face and Hermione felt her face flush a deeper red. She had fought the Wizengamot on this point, adamant that he had assurance that he’d be protected outside Azkaban. Once the  _ Prophet  _ got wind of his early release, Hermione knew it would only be a matter of time before the public was calling for his head. Turns out being an ex-Death Eater didn’t win one many friends.

  
  


His voice was quieter as he spoke, “You, Hermione Granger, vow to protect me, Draco Malfoy, to the best of your ability while we are bound. I, Draco Malfoy, vow to do the same.”

  
  


Another flame spun out from Harry’s wand and twirled up their palms and over their wrists.

  
  


“You, Draco Malfoy, vow to uphold the agreed upon terms of your early release from Azkaban and will do all you can to hunt the Questing Beast with my, Hermione Granger’s, help. Upon successfully capturing the Questing Beast, the Vow will dissolve and you will be free.”

  
  


“I, Draco Malfoy, vow to uphold the agreed upon terms of your early release from Azkaban and will do all you can to hunt the Questing Beast with your, Hermione Granger’s, help. Upon successfully capturing the Questing Beast, the Vow will dissolve and I will be free.”

  
  


A final fiery thread sparkled through the air and tethered the pair together. It licked at their hands, lasting a moment longer than the rest, before sinking into their skin.

  
  


Malfoy lingered, squeezing her hand lightly, and gave her a wink. “I could kiss you I’m so happy right now.”

  
  


She tugged her hand out of his, glaring at him. “I’m sure you remember what my fist feels like against your jaw, Malfoy.”

“Get dressed. We’ll be waiting outside.” Harry placed a hand on Hermione’s shoulder and guided her out of the room. “Are you sure you’re OK with all of this?”

“Well it’s too late now, isn’t it? We just took a bloody Unbreakable Vow!”

“Maybe it won’t take that long. He’s got motivation to wrap things up quickly.”

“Right. The fastest any Pellinore has tracked the Questing Beast was eleven months. And even then, he didn’t capture it.”

“But he didn’t have Hermione Granger’s help.” Harry smiled, squeezing her arm.

“Don’t try flattery right now, Harry.”

The pair stood in silence. Hermione looked down at her right hand. Red lashes criss crossed over her skin where the flames had tied her to Malfoy. They would fade in a few hours, but she knew her Vow with Malfoy would last much longer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I know it's been a long time between updates. I'm so sorry for that. I got married at the end of February and then the pandemic made it hard to get back to normal. But slowly easing back into writing this fic has helped and thank you all for your lovely comments.
> 
> I hope you're all doing well and staying safe and promise not to have such a delay between posts going forward. Thanks to my alpha/beta, HeartSandwich, I've made some updates to the first two chapters so you may want to reread.
> 
> Anyway, thank you all again for sticking with me! Let me know your thoughts.
> 
> xoxo  
> blahcat

Hermione unlocked the door to their two-story and held it open for Malfoy to follow her inside. She’d been there for a few hours the day before, helping Harry and another Auror test and recast wards. It was a nice residence, with dark hardwood floors and walls covered in dated paper. The furniture was older, but comfortable and clean. 

The Ministry had purchased the townhome in the late sixties but hadn’t done anything with it until now. Outwardly, it was owned by an elderly Muggle couple who’d lived there for decades. "A safety precaution," Harry had explained, since the townhome remained largely untraceable and the Auror Department could install an all-new fireplace linked to the Floo network with stronger protections rather than having to fortify an existing Floo. 

She felt along the foyer’s walls for the lightswitch and the stained glass light fixture hanging from the ceiling hummed to life.

“What’s that?” Draco eyed the wall where Hermione’s hand had been with suspicion. It was the first he’d spoken to her since Harry had said his goodbyes at the designated Apparition point a few blocks from the townhome and left them on their own. It was fine with her that he wasn’t much of a talker; they didn’t need to be friends to complete this task.

“What’s what?” She followed his gaze and laughed, flicking the switch up and down as the light in the foyer stuttered on and off. “Oh! It’s a lightswitch. It’s what Muggles use to turn on lights.” Hermione turned back to him, eyes bright. “Did you know that Muggles were so scared of electricity that some nice hotels had staff whose sole responsibility was turning lights on and off for their guests?”

Hermione felt her face grow hot as a heavy silence weighed between them. Trivia was as second nature to her as breathing and came particularly easy when she felt uncomfortable. And showing Malfoy around their shared home might be the most uncomfortable she’d felt since Hogwarts.

He furrowed his brow. “Electricity?”

“Let me guess.” Hermione tapped a finger to her chin. “You didn’t take Muggle Studies. Electricity is what makes light and helps power a lot of Muggle technologies.”

“Good thing we have magic, Granger.” He flicked his wand and the light turned back on.

“Well, magic and electricity are like oil and water. But we performed a thousand spells when setting up the wards and only had to reset the circuit breaker once.” She shrugged. “So maybe it won’t be so bad?”

She hurried through the foyer, nudging a stack of black leather trunks and hard-case luggage with the toe of her shoe. “Your mother had these sent for you.”

Malfoy nodded, unlatching the smallest case on the top. Hermione squinted at its contents. She thought Mrs. Malfoy had sent along more clothes and perhaps a few books, which the other cases could still hold, but she didn’t expect a tarnished spyglass and matching compass. Malfoy picked up the spyglass with careful fingers and extended it to its full length. The whole thing was as long as her arm, Hermione noted, as Malfoy held it to his eye and fiddled with the brass tubing to bring whatever he was looking at into focus. He shut the spyglass with a swift snap and placed it back in the case next to the compass.

“The joys of having Pellinore blood.” Malfoy grinned and carded his fingers through his long, blond hair. “We come with so many fun accessories.”

“Those are family heirlooms.” Hermione nodded to the case.

He straightened his shoulders, chin raised and one eyebrow arched. Only Malfoy could pull off such confidence with greasy hair and an unkempt beard. “Passed all the way down from the  _ King _ himself.”

“Yeah, yeah, congratulations on being related to a king. All that smugness had to come from somewhere.” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“It’s a relief to have an excuse.” Malfoy looked her up and down, a smirk playing on his lips. He crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s yours?”

Hermione pressed her lips into a straight line. She had forgotten Malfoy’s wit matched her own. He always knew how to push her buttons in school, be it easy jabs about her hair and teeth, or more well thought out ones about her bookishness. It wasn’t that she’d forgotten his teasing, but she was foolish to underestimate his intelligence — even if it was a momentary lapse in judgment. He had been second in their year, after all. A smirk tugged at her lips. Second to  _ her _ . Malfoy was busy fussing with the cases. With a wave of his wand, the cases were floating through the air and up the stairs.

“I take it my bedroom is the bigger one, yes?” he called as he followed his belongings to the second floor.

“My things are already put away!” she shouted. “Don’t you dare move anything around!”

A door slammed shut upstairs and Hermione wasn’t sure if he couldn’t hear her or if he was simply ignoring her. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “Just be patient,” she mumbled. “Anger won’t do you any good.”

Hermione threw her purse onto the gaudy purple credenza in the foyer before stalking down the hall and into the kitchen. Tea. Tea always made things better.

After upending every cupboard, the only kettle Hermione could find was an old electric one from the fifties. She plugged the ugly yellow appliance into the wall, filled it with water, and pressed the red button on its side. She squeezed the edge of the counter until her knuckles turned white. Hermione realized she’d need a lot of tea to survive this living arrangement. Likely something stronger.

The water turned on upstairs. Malfoy was in desperate need of a shower. She couldn’t remember if Azkaban allowed for one shower a week or if it was every other week. A shudder crawled down her back at the thought. The last time she went more than once a week without bathing had been when she was on the hunt for Horcruxes with Harry and Ron.

She hopped up to sit on the counter and chewed on her cuticles as guilt gnawed at her insides. She hadn’t meant to get angry with Malfoy in the visitation room, but he was the best at getting under her skin and knew the exact buttons to push to make her explode, even after seven years of not speaking. She took a deep breath and held it for three seconds before exhaling, just like her therapist in Rome had taught her. Malfoy wasn’t to blame for her short fuse.  _ You can only control how you react to others, Hermione, you can’t control how they behave,  _ Doctor Brambilla would say.

Six years was a  _ long _ time, and Hermione liked to think she’d changed since the war. She was more self-sufficient. Less prone to outbursts. She slept better, getting almost five hours a night now. And the nightmares weren’t as frequent. Maybe three times a week instead of every night. If she’d been able to change so much in a few years, then why couldn’t she believe the same of Malfoy?

The tea kettle rumbled, causing Hermione to flinch. Without getting up from the counter, she snatched a chipped mug from the cupboard to her right and a satchel of tea out of a drawer to the left of her legs. She poured the boiling water over the bag and watched it rise to the surface. Tea seeped into the mug, coiling through the water in thick tendrils like blood. Perhaps not the most delightful of images, but it was progress. After all, if it had been only a year out from the war, it was likely she would’ve seen much more specific terrors floating in the water.

She jumped down from her seat and poked through the cupboards for sugar, making a mental note that they’d need to get groceries at some point today since the Ministry didn’t think to stock the kitchen before their arrival. Hermione got on her knees and dug into the bottom corner of the pantry. All the way in the back behind a few tins of sardines and cans of beans, was a box of sugar that Hermione guessed was older than her.

“This isn’t a prison, Granger. You don’t need to dig your way out.”

Hermione bumped her head, startled by Malfoy’s sudden appearance. She backed out of the pantry, wiping at the dust on her skirt and blouse. He was leaning against the counter with a smirk on his lips. His gaze flickered over her as she stood back up, lingering just a moment too long on her arse.

He opened his mouth and then shut it, that Cheshire grin spreading wider across his face

She fixed him with a glare. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that the hour of relative good behavior Malfoy exhibited since they had left Azkaban couldn’t last. All the insults he’d hurled at her during their years at Hogwarts dripped against her brain like a leaky faucet. How was she so foolish to forget in that brief sixty minutes that he was her childhood bully? And not just any bully. A former Death Eater no less. Hermione threw her shoulders back, heat creeping up her cheeks.

“What? What nasty remark were you going to make?”

He looked her up and down once more and gave a short laugh. He still looked more or less disheveled, but not nearly as greasy. Rather, his platinum hair fell to his shoulders in soft, shiny locks that reminded her of the expensive porcelain dolls her grandmother would buy her. The ones she’d lock in her armoire at night out of fear that they’d come alive and kill her.

“You think so little of me to believe I’d revert back to name calling?”

Hermione arched an eyebrow.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Fine. I was going to say I’m glad the Ministry didn’t stick me with Potter because I doubt he has as nice of an arse as you do.”

Her eyes widened at the remark and it was made even worse that he said it so unabashedly. He didn’t even have the sense to at least pretend to be embarrassed.

“Don’t let it go to your head. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in the same room as a woman.”

She grimaced at the thought, but immediately forgot upon seeing her mug of tea in Malfoy’s hand. “Hey!”

“Thank you for the tea, Granger.” He took a long sip, gray eyes fixed on hers. “It was so kind of you.”

_ Patience, Hermione _ . She gritted her teeth and grabbed another mug from the cupboard, slamming it onto the counter with more force than she intended, and went in search of another tea bag.

Perhaps he hadn’t changed at all.

***

After Malfoy drained her cup of tea and Hermione was about to secure a new one, they left their townhome for an afternoon of errands. If someone had told Hermione way back when she was still at Hogwarts that one day she’d be waiting in a barbershop as Malfoy got his hair cut and beard trimmed, well, she’d have likely laughed in their face. Loudly. But apparently the joke was on her because here she was, reading a two-month old copy of  _ GQ _ and trying not to eavesdrop as Malfoy laughed with the Muggle barber. Funny how the world works sometimes.

Malfoy cleared his throat and Hermione looked up to see him standing a foot in front of her. “Well? What do you think?”

His hair was much shorter, cropped close to the back of his neck and falling in a fringe over his forehead. The barber had given him a clean shave and now it was easier to see the sharpness in his cheekbones and straight line of his jaw. Of course he was one of those people who only required a minimal amount of effort to be attractive. Even after six years in prison, all Malfoy needed was a shave and a haircut to look like  _ he  _ should be modeling suits in  _ GQ _ .

“Speechless, Granger?” He ran a hand through his hair and grinned in a way that made her stomach clench.

Hermione tossed the magazine on the seat next to her and narrowed her eyes. “I suppose it’ll do.”

“I  _ suppose _ I’ll take that as a compliment coming from you.” He laughed and held the barbershop door open for Hermione to walk through first. “I have to say, that wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be.”

“What? You’ve never received a haircut?”

“Not a Muggle one.” They walked side-by-side through Muggle London, the late summer sun high overhead. “It was surprisingly relaxing.”

“Look at you.” Hermione laughed. “Adapting to Muggle culture so quickly. Will you be driving next?”

“Let’s not get too carried away.” They came to a red light and stopped at the crosswalk. Hermione reached in front of him to push the crossing button. “I simply enjoy being pampered. And everything feels like being pampered after being locked up.” He took a deep breath and tilted his head back to let the sunshine wash over his face.. “So, where to next?”

Hermione dug into her purse and pulled out a grocery list. “We need to go to the shop before heading home.”

“What kind of shop?” Malfoy asked. The light turned green and the pair walked quickly across the street and down the block past cafes, boutiques, and a bookstore Hermione filed away to check out later.

“For food. We need to stock the pantry.”

Malfoy furrowed his brow. “It doesn’t just appear in the kitchen?”

Hermione blinked at him slowly before turning on her heel and heading into the Tesco Metro. It only took her a few steps into the shop to realize Malfoy was no longer behind her. She looked over her shoulder to see him glancing warily at the glass doors. They whirred closed in front of him and opened again when he waved his hand. He stood still once more and the doors closed. Hermione could practically see the gears turning in his head as he examined them and had to bite back a laugh.

“Oi, Malfoy! We haven’t got all day.” She grabbed a trolley and set her bag on the child’s seat. With short, quick steps, he hurried between the doors as if afraid they’d chew him up and spit him out. Hermione snorted at the sight, doubling over the top of her trolley.

“What are those?” Malfoy asked, his voice laced with terror and awe.

“Doors.” Hermione rolled her eyes as they set off into the shop. He gave her a sharp look and opened his mouth to retort, but she continued, “Muggle technology is not unlike magic. They’ve automated several benign tasks, such as opening doors, so they may live their lives more efficiently. I can explain more later, but,” she lowered her voice as they turn into the busier produce section, “let’s avoid both  _ M words _ as best we can while in public.”

Hermione scanned her list and began filling the trolley with various fruits and vegetables as Malfoy craned his neck to take in the shop. He stared directly into the fluorescent lights for several seconds until he looked away, squinting, and turned his attention to the butcher slicing ham on a large metal electric slicer. 

“Do you want cold cuts?” Hermione asked, tying off a bag of apples and placing it in the trolley. “For sandwiches?”

Malfoy shook his head and followed her as she wound them down an aisle whose shelves were stuffed with dry pasta, beans, and rice. “I never considered Mug—” he paused, considering his words, “— _ people _ lived this way.”

“People have to get their food from somewhere.” Hermione looked at the selection of pastas, grabbing boxes of ziti and cappellini, already missing Rome where fresh pasta was much easier to come by. “There are farmer’s markets, which are closer to what you might be more familiar with, but they tend to only happen on the weekends.”

“I’ve never been to the market.” Malfoy picked up a box of macaroni and cheese before grabbing three more and tossing all of them in the trolley. “When I was little I’d ask my mother if I could go along with the elves, but she was always afraid I’d get lost.”

“I don’t blame her. It would be no surprise to discover you were one of those children who required a leash when going out,” Hermione said, grabbing two of the macaroni and cheese boxes and putting them back. “You shouldn’t eat that much boxed macaroni and cheese. You don’t even know if you like it.”

Malfoy picked up one of the boxes and pointed at the words, saying them slowly as if Hermione were a toddler. “Macaroni and cheese. Pasta and cheese. Who doesn’t like that?”

She huffed at his condescension. “You have never had boxed macaroni and cheese. It’s not like what they served at Hog—  _ school _ . It’s certainly not what you were served for dinner in your home.”

He glared at her and plucked four more boxes off the shelf, dropping them into the trolley one by one. “We’ll just see how wrong you are.”

“Fine. But you’ll have to figure out how to make it on your own,” she scoffed. “That’ll be fun to watch.”

“God, you’re so insufferable,” he mumbled. “The only person I’ve ever met who came back from Italy more uptight.”

“Well, get used to it,” she sing-songed as they turned down another aisle. The desire to prove him wrong fluttered in her stomach, but she tamped it down. Hermione knew she could be fun. Sure she was wound a little tight, but who wouldn’t be after all that she’d been through? She didn’t have to prove herself to anyone — especially Malfoy.

The silence between them weighed heavy and finally she sighed, stumbling back into their previous conversation. “I’d go to the market every weekend when I lived in Rome. It was especially busy in the summer.”

“You moved there after you graduated?”

“I work at the Vat. Until now, that is.”

“Librarian?” Malfoy laughed. “Suits you.”

“Of course it suits me.” Hermione lifted her chin. “I’m one of the best at my job, which I’ll have you know isn’t just shelving books and shushing patrons.”

Malfoy held up his hands, lips twitching upward. “Wasn’t going to say that. I’ve read about your work in the  _ Prophet _ and found it more interesting than most things they publish.” He shook his head. “So quick to get defensive.”

“It’s not the adventurous choice people thought I’d make after the war.” Hermione felt her cheeks flush at the admission. It was Ron who had laughed at her when she first told him and Harry that no, she wouldn’t join them at the Ministry to become an Auror. He had thought her trip abroad was merely a holiday, and truthfully, so had she. 

After the news sunk in and he realized Hermione wasn’t coming back to England, Ron became resentful. “Librarians are boring,” he’d say. And mean and old and dusty. The list went on and on as Ron tried to convince her to come back, and it was then that Hermione realized she couldn’t stay with a man who didn’t want her to at least try different things that interested her. Not that it was his fault. He’d sensed that the job in Italy meant the end of their relationship and was doing all he could to prevent it. But Hermione knew it was best for both of them to go their separate ways now in order to rebuild their friendship. That was five years ago and they’d hardly exchanged more than a handful of letters in that time.

They picked up the remaining items on the grocery list and packed everything into paper bags before walking back home. Hermione watched as Malfoy’s eyes lingered on the cars as they drove down the street or on the Muggles using mobile phones. None of it bothered him in the way she thought it would, and if anything, he seemed impressed by their technology. When he interacted with Muggles, like the barber and cashier at the Tesco, he wasn’t at all cold or off-putting. She smiled as he tapped the crossing button just like she had earlier. Perhaps there was hope that he wasn’t the hateful little ferret he used to be.

“They’re in here somewhere,” Hermione muttered as she fished through her purse for the keys. She pulled out her wallet, a battered copy of  _ Hogwarts: A History _ , two blazers still on their hangers, and a fully grown basil plant before finding the small ring of keys. “Found them!” She grinned, keys dangling from her fingers.

“And here I thought we’d need to go on an expedition.” Malfoy rolled his eyes.

She reached for the handle, but before Hermione could use her key, the door swung open to reveal a very pregnant red-haired, brown-eyed woman grinning from ear to ear. “Welcome home!”


End file.
